Hiker's Revenge
by Dean'sGyrl0208
Summary: NOW COMPLETE! A girl living alone in the woods happens upon Mort while he's on the run from the police after the events of the movie. Sequel to come soon... Please review if you like it! :-)
1. Diane's Lane

Chapter 1  
  
"The prisoner is believed to be moving south through Williamsburg County. Everyone in that vicinity should be especially cautious. Morton Rainey is a Caucasian male, about age thirty-five, with brown hair and brown eyes and approximately five foot eight inches tall. He is armed and considered to be very dangerous. Please continue listening for more information…" Diane flipped the radio to another station and sighed. Some people are so paranoid, she thought. They sit and listen to the radio band all day just waiting for something exciting to happen. At least that criminal wasn't coming anywhere near her. She had a small cabin up near Morris Lake which was at least fifty miles from the northern border to Williamsburg County. Diane sighed as she turned into her winding driveway.   
  
The sun was just starting to set when she finished her dinner in her small kitchen nook. The windows overlooked the lake which seemed to spread out into infinity, where it burned into the sun which sank lower, merging and then sizzling below the waves. After she washed the dishes, Diane decided to take a walk out near the lake in the cool autumn air. After pulling on a thin white jacket, she headed out into the midst of the trees.  
  
The leaves seemed to mirror the shades of the sky, burning a bright yellow, and then a deeper crimson. She paused when something crunched behind her. Spinning around, she listened for another sound, but after a moment, all she could hear was the birds chirping and then suddenly, her senses began to prickle. She felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck and she held her breath, but there was still nothing. Then, there was too much. An arm circled her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. She started to scream, but something cold was pressed against her neck and she swallowed the sound. "Don't move or I'll kill you," a rough voice rasped in her ear, making goose bumps rise on her arms.   
  
"Wha-what do you want?" she asked softly, her voice catching in her throat.   
  
"Now ma'am, you don't get fidgety, I just need a bit o' help that's all. Now you just turn on back around and we'll head on back to that nice ol' cabin of yours."  
  
He spun her around and she got her first look at the man. He was actually somewhat attractive for a criminal. His light brown hair hung in his face, brushing the thin wire framed glasses. The thing that drew her eye though, was the police issue gun he held pointed at her.   
  
"Who are you?"  
  
He looked at her with consideration for a moment and smirked. "The name's John Shooter," he kicked a leaf on the ground and then motioned with the gun. For a split second, she was terrified that it was going to go off on accident.   
  
She turned her back on him slowly, praying that he wouldn't shoot her in the back, and with leaves crunching underfoot, she started back towards home. 


	2. Sunsets and Schizophrenia

Oh my god, I just went to see "Secret Window," again and it's even better the second time around. Johnny Depp is sooooooo hot as a psycho. *Doing snoopy dances* My favorite part is at the end where there are like 6 of him! Yummy!  
  
Please review and tell me what you think if you like this story!   
  
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue!   
  
Chapter 2  
  
Sunsets and Schizophrenia   
  
  
  
After taking a few steps forward slowly, she glanced back at the man who was following her. His hair was standing on end as if he had run his fingers through it repeatedly and he had on a large rumpled shirt which made his thin shoulders look broader than they were.   
  
He glared at her when their eyes met and pushed her forward. "Keep moving," he growled.   
  
She paused for a moment, and before she had even had time to consider the consequences, she kicked him as hard as she could in the stomach. Unfortunately it didn't knock him down but merely caused him to stumble back a few paces and glare at her out of eyes that seemed to be made of stone.   
  
He was sturdier than he looked, she thought. He was so lanky she was pretty sure that a good breeze would have just blown him away.   
  
"Now that wasn't very smart," he said, his face lined with what appeared to be just plain annoyance, "then again, no one every accused women of being smart." She backed up and prepared to run, but he aimed the pistol at her and she stopped, meeting his eyes.   
  
"You do that one more time missy and I might just have to shoot ya," he said, his voice a deep drawl. It wasn't an accent that she was familiar with. Instead it sounded harsh and grating rather than lilting like most southern accents do. Gesturing with his hand, he smiled darkly and said, "after you."   
  
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When they reached the cabin, Diane felt her skin prickle as it had done earlier in the woods. John Shooter, or whoever he was, was a lunatic. All the way back, she could hear him muttering to himself, whispering just loudly enough for her to hear.   
  
For the first time, the announcement on the radio about the escaped man floated into her memory. That's not possible, she thought, that guy was miles from here. There's no way that he could've made it that far that fast.   
  
As she walked up the steps, she raised her hand to open the door, but Shooter's hand caught her wrist before she could touch the doorknob.   
  
He slowly eased the screen door open with the gun and carefully stepped through. Diane held her breath, and praying that her plan would work, kicked him from behind. He fell to the ground and the gun went off, she could hear the bullet ricochet into the living room.   
  
As she turned to run towards the door, a hand caught her ankle in a vice-like grip and she stumbled, almost falling. She noticed that he had dropped the gun, and when Shooter started to sit up, she punched him as hard as she could, feeling the blow sing up her arm. His face went slack and she thought happily that she had knocked him out, but when his eyes popped opened again, she felt her heart begin to pump in her throat.  
  
She started to reach for the gun, which had skittered under the coffee table, but his hand still held her ankle tightly and she ended up falling flat on her butt. When she met his eyes again, they were softer, and his face had lost its visage of stone.   
  
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice softer and stuttering. Any trace of an accent that she had heard earlier had disappeared completely.  
  
She gaped at him and reached for the gun but it was still too far away. "What?"  
  
He turned his head to look what she was reaching for and saw the black gun glistening under the glass topped coffee table, then looked at her again, his eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"  
  
Diane wrenched her ankle out of his grasp and stumbled to a standing position. "What do you mean?"   
  
The man looked confused and started to stand up, but Diane had finally grabbed the gun and held it pointed at his chest. If this was just some trick, she wasn't going to fall for it.   
  
Shooter, or whoever he was, looked around the room, and his eyes clouded. "Where am I?"  
  
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"What is your name?" Diane asked, her legs crossed as she glared at him.   
  
"Morton Rainey," he said, licking his dry lips. "I'm a writer." He held his hands up tentatively, obviously afraid of the gun. "Would you mind putting that down?" he asked with a quick smile.   
  
"Morton RAINEY?" Diane asked, remembering the radio broadcast.  
  
Another smile flickered across his face quickly, but she could sense his nervousness. "What exactly am I doing here?" he asked, looking around the rustic cabin appreciatively.  
  
"What is the last thing you remember?" she asked, watching him carefully to detect any sort of lie.  
  
"I was in my cabin up near Tashmore Lake, waiting to hear from Shooter."  
  
"Shooter?"   
  
"Yeah," he said, looking at her while has hands fidgeted in his lap uselessly.  
  
"Who is Shooter?"  
  
"He's this lunatic redneck that's been bothering me the past week. He says that I stole his story."  
  
Mort stood up suddenly, upending the glass of tea he held clutched in his hand.   
  
"What is it?" she asked, "What's wrong?"  
  
"I was supposed to meet him over an hour ago."  
  
"Shooter?"   
  
"Yes Shooter," he said, his voice filling with oozing sarcasm. "Who else would I be talking about? He said to meet him, or he was going to do something terrible."  
  
"Mort, I think there's a bit of a problem," Diane said, glancing down at the gun in her lap.   
  
"What?" he was standing near the screen door, looking out as if searching for danger.   
  
"You are Shooter." 


	3. Sunset in Appalachia

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Chapter 3  
  
Sunset in Appalachia   
  
Mort stared at her in disbelief. That's impossible, he thought. Shooter's some redneck from Mississippi. Why on earth would she think that he was Shooter? He glared at her, unable to comprehend what she was saying, shaking his head slowly, and took a step towards her but stopped short when she shrunk back in fear. She seemed terrified of him, she kept that gun clutched in her hand tightly. He recognized it as a police issue and wondered where it had come from.   
  
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice almost a growl.   
  
"When I asked you what your name was when you attacked me in the woods, you called yourself John Shooter."  
  
Mort just stared at her blankly. This had to be some sort of joke, he thought. Maybe Shooter had hired her to make him think that he was crazy. But that was ridiculous, because he already did think that he was crazy, he didn't need help with that.   
  
"That's impossible," he said, his voice shaking.   
  
"Oh believe me, it's entirely possible," Diane said, raising her hand to feel of the bruises that had been left on her arm from where he had grabbed her in the woods. "You told me that you needed my help. Your voice was even different. You had some weird southern accent."  
  
She's lying, he thought to himself, either that or I'm dreaming. He saw her fidget as she grasped the gun tightly, her fingers turning white.   
  
I have to meet Shooter at six or he's going to hurt someone else. That's what he swore he would do. But how do I find him? I don't even know where I am. Another voice in his head said, 'he knows how to find you.''  
  
Shaking his head he slowly moved towards her, his heart beginning to pick up speed as his anger grew.   
  
"Why are you lying to me?" he asked, his eyes narrowed. "You're hiding something."  
  
"What?" she said, looking at him confused. She still had the gun clutched tightly in her hands, which were shaking.  
  
"Why don't you tell me the truth?" he said softly, leaning down next to her as he put his hands on either sides of her chair.  
  
"And what would that be?" she asked, fidgeting as he breathed in her ear. "Get away from me," she said, pushing the gun against his chest, her hand shaking.   
  
"YOU'RE LYING!" he yelled.   
  
Mort reached for the gun, but Diane swung up, knocking Mort in the head with it. It left a cut across his forehead. He clutched his head for a moment, clenching his teeth, and then popping his jaw that could never seem to stop locking up.   
  
"You're lying! I want to know what you're hiding!" Then he had his hands around her throat from behind her. She tried to breathe, but the only air she could take in was in a high pitched squeak. She pulled at his fingers ineffectually, but his fingers were strong and bony. She snapped her body forward, and for some reason he loosened his grip. Elbowing him in the stomach, she knocked his air out and struggled out of his grasp. He sprung after her, wrapping his arms around her waist, making her collapse on the floor. She still held the gun tightly, but the sweat on her fingers made it slippery in her grasp. Mort rolled her over as she punched out at him. He snatched the gun away from her easily, and then hit her over the head with it. Her eyes fluttered closed and her whole body convulsed.   
  
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Mort glared down at the girl, his face hardening. He was going to find out what was going on. Picking her up, he tossed her over his shoulder with more strength than he had appeared to have. He yanked open the closet door and leaned her against the wall, where she slid behind the winter coats that smelled slightly of mothballs. His mouth was grim as he closed the door and ran a hand through his hair making it stand on end. He found a chair from the kitchen and wedged it under the handle securely, and then hurried out the front door into the frigid night air. It was time to go meet Shooter.  
  
"Well, it's about time you showed up Mr. Rainey," the tall man drawled from behind a tree. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."  
  
"What have you done now Shooter?" Mort's mouth was turned down in a frown, his eyes glinting wildly.  
  
"Why, I haven't done anything wrong. Just been handling your business for you, that's all," Shooter said, his face immobile as he puffed on a Pall Mall cigarette.  
  
"What do you mean 'handling my business'?" Mort cocked his head to the side and reached for his breast pocket in search of his cigarettes, but they were gone. Damn, he thought, I could really use one of those right about now.   
  
"That girl sure is a purty one ain't she?" Shooter asked, moving closer to Mort menacingly and interrupting his thoughts.   
  
"You leave that girl alone," his voice was dark as he narrowed his eyes.  
  
"You know I can't promise you that," Shooter said. "Seems to me, we still have business to get to and you are just dragging your feet over it."  
  
Mort gulped as he put his arm behind his back and lifted his shirt where he had tucked the pistol into his waistband. Drawing it out quickly, he pointed it at Shooter.   
  
"You stay away from me or I swear to God I'll kill you."  
  
Shooter laughed harshly, his voice grating like nails on a chalkboard. "You can't kill me Mr. Rainey. You ain't that type of man. That's why I'm here."  
  
Mort pulled the trigger, but rather than piercing Shooter's heart, the bullet plummeted into an old sycamore tree just behind him with a dry crack.  
  
"Wha-?"  
  
"I told you Mr. Rainey," Shooter said, drawing nearer, "you can't kill me."  
  
Mort just stared at Shooter for a moment and then, spun around to run. 


	4. Screaming

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First of all, I would like to thank everyone that's reviewed so far. I appreciate it a whole bunch. Please keep the input coming!!   
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of Stephen King's characters or any elements of his story. All I own that's remotely related to "Secret Window" is the short story collection of "Four Past Midnight" which I broke down and bought out of weakness (What a great picture on the cover!! J). I am going to see the movie for the third time to hear Johnny Depp sing at the end of the movie after the credits and wow! Such a great movie! Also, if you haven't read the short story, "Secret Window, Secret Garden," try it. The movie is very true to the book in general, except for the ending. Now, before I really start rambling too much, on to Chapter 4!!!   
  
Chapter 4  
  
Screaming  
  
Diane rubbed her hand over the back of her head where it was throbbing. What the hell? she thought, opening her eyes. She stopped her hand in midair and blinked. What the hell? Where am I? She struggled to stand up. She was slumped over in something soft that smelled slightly of mothballs. Her heart began to beat faster as she held her arms out in the darkness.   
  
She felt the sides of the closet and her breathing became shallower. Okay, she thought, how did I get in here? She tried to see some bit of light, but the entire room was in darkness. A whiff of mothballs registered in her senses and she blinked. What am I doing in the closet? She had just brought her winter coats down from the attic the week before and they still smelled.   
  
She found the doorknob and turned it, but the door was jammed with something, stuck tight. She rammed against it with her shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. Great, this is just great. I'm stuck in this stupid closet like some damsel in distress and there's no one around for miles except of course for a homicidal maniac with split personality. She stood for a moment, gazing into nothingness and strained to hear any sign of movement on the other side of the door. She leaned back against the wall and tried to slow her breathing, in order to hear over the rushing in her ears which seemed to cancel out all other sounds and made her feel as if she was wading underwater, lost in the darkness.  
  
She was oddly calm, despite her body's panicking reaction. Maybe he's gone, she thought, maybe he just ran off. Another part of her laughed at her stupid optimism.   
  
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Mort tripped over a tree root that had grown in an arch into the dirt. He landed face down in the grass, sending dry leaves flying into the growing darkness.   
  
"She knows about me. You know that I can't let her live." He heard Shooter laugh behind him, a rusty grating on his nerves. Will that guy ever shut up?   
  
He stood up quickly, got a head rush and stumbled back against a tree. When he looked behind him, Shooter was gone.   
  
"Shooter!!!"   
  
Silence. "I know you're out there!"  
  
He's going. He's going to kill the girl. You have to stop him. He told you he would do it. Go, you'd better hurry.   
  
His thoughts were choppy, as if one side of his brain was experiencing technical difficulties. He listened for any movement nearby but silence seemed to choke the forest.. He finally got has balance back, and although he tilted to the side, he started to jog back through the dark woods, making his way laboriously in search of Diane's cabin.   
  
Hurry.  
  
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Diane was beating against the closet door repetitively, her head pounding like a snare drum when she heard a crashing noise on the other side of the door.   
  
That's him. He's back. Wonderful. Sitting duck, anyone?   
  
She stopped beating on the door, and stood silently for a moment, waiting for any other sign of life. Nothing.   
  
She took a deep breath and started to gather momentum to ram her shoulder against the door, but at the exact moment her arm made contact with the door, it was flung open and she stumbled out and on to the floor, knocking her head.  
  
I'm beginning to understand how those tiny little silver balls in a pinball machine feel.   
  
She had landed on her stomach, her breath knocked out of her, and she took a moment to inhale. The air whistled through her windpipe with a hiss. She rolled over slowly, terrified to see who had opened the door, and positive she already knew the answer.   
  
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"Well, well, well," the tall man with deep wrinkles said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Lookee what we got here." He was thin with broad shoulders, but she could tell that despite his wiry frame, he was strong. He knelt down next to her and smiled, displaying yellowing teeth that made her cringe inwardly. He wore a curious black hat with a wide brim, hiding his eyes.   
  
"C-can I help you?" Diane asked, coughing on the dry words she forced out.   
  
"Why you surely can," he said, "but I don't think you're gonna like it."   
  
He pulled her up by her sweater roughly as she screamed.  
  
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"I'm so sorry for all of this trouble missus," the man drawled as he finished the knot that bound her wrists behind her back and stood. She was seated in the desk chair in the center of the living room.   
  
"Who are you?"  
  
The man chuckled, "I could answer that for you, but you already know don't you?"   
  
"Shooter?"  
  
"The one and only," he said.   
  
"What do you want?"  
  
He considered her question for a moment, a small smile lighting his lips evilly, although she couldn't see it through the blindfold. "Well, I can't have you around when our good ol' Mort is so taken with you. All you would do is use him and then dispose of him, just like his wife did."   
  
"Well then why don't you just kill me and get it over with," she challenged, "what are you waiting for?" She wriggled her wrists, but the ropes wouldn't give a millimeter. What are you doing? Are you a moron? Don't encourage him!  
  
"Because Mort and I have something to handle before this whole business can be finished."   
  
Diane jumped when she heard footsteps on the back porch and listened to see what was going on, but all the sounds seemed to be muffled.   
  
She heard the screen door slam and a moment later something cold pressed against her throat.   
  
"Don't move or I'll kill her." 


	5. A Walk in the Woods

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Wow, you guys are so great!!! A huge great big thanks to PineAppleLint for her wonderful input.   
  
PirateGyrl: okay, first of all, he couldn't shoot Shooter and kill himself, because that just simply defies physics. That would imply him being in two places at once.   
  
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
"Don't move or I'll kill her." Shooter drawled as he held the blade closer to her throat.   
  
"Shooter, leave her alone, this is between you and me," Mort said, taking in the scene before him. Diane was blindfolded, fidgeting nervously in the chair.   
  
"Now you know I can't do that," Shooter said, chewing on something on the side of his mouth.   
  
"This has got to be handled. You know it and I know it."   
  
"But why hurt the girl?" he asked, moving closer to Shooter carefully.   
  
"Now you stop," Shooter said, pushing the knife tip into Diane's throat as she gasped. "Don't come any closer, Mr. Rainey, or this purty li'l girl is gonna get her throat cut."   
  
"Shooter," Mort said, "let her go. I don't even know her," he swallowed carefully and took another step forward.   
  
"If you wanna kill her, just keep walkin'," Shooter said, sounding all too happy to commit cold blooded murder.  
  
"I've about had it with you Shooter," Mort said, stopping, and holding his arms out. "If you want to kill me, just get it over with."  
  
"No sir, I don't want to kill you. I just want to finish cleaning up everything that's happening, and then I can go away for good."   
  
"But that girl doesn't even know me," Mort said, shaking his head and looking at the girl, obviously terrified at the way she stiffened every time Shooter moved the blade.   
  
"Stop and think about that for a minute," Shooter said, cocking his head to the side. "Are you so sure about that?" He paused for a moment, and the only sound audible was Diane's labored breathing, gasping in fits and spurts. "Are you sure that she doesn't know exactly what you've done? How you killed all them people back in Tashmore? If I let her live, she'll see that they lock you away for the rest of your natural born days." He smiled grimly, "I can't let that happen."   
  
*******************************************************************************  
  
Diane felt sweat prickle on her skin as she listened to the conversation. There were two distinct voices, one, Mort's voice, was markedly smoother than Shooter's grating, irritating drawl.   
  
Shooter was determined to kill her, obviously, but Mort just sounded nervous and terrified of what he was capable of.   
  
This is impossible, she thought. Rainey's got split personalities. He called himself Shooter when he found me in the woods. How could there actually be a Shooter? Did he create him? This doesn't make any sense.  
  
She wiggled her hands behind her back, and was startled to find the ropes loosening easily. She worked her wrists carefully, trying not to seem too obvious, and completely unaware that Shooter was too intent with Mort to pay any attention to her.   
  
When she finally freed her hands, she kept them behind her back, and shivered as Shooter adjusted the knife at her throat.   
  
"You murdering bastard, leave her alone!" Mort yelled, and Diane heard something crash. She jumped, and Shooter removed the knife, leaving opportunity wide open. She reached up to snatch the blindfold off and stood, taking in the whole mess. Mort stood at the opposite end of the room, near the door, and Shooter, the man who had attacked her, stood off to her left. The crash she had heard was the porcelain lamp that her grandmother had left her which was now scattered in pieces near the base of her chair, like Mort had thrown it at Shooter. Before Shooter could grab her, she spun past him, racing for the stairs that led to the second floor and the attic.   
  
Rather than running up the stairs, she turned and shoved open the back door, running into the dark. The night was cold and eerily quiet despite the two men running after her.   
  
"Diane!" Mort yelled. "Come back!" He stumbled down the steps onto the back porch and flicked on the back light. Shooter had run after her, and although he was a fairly large man, he moved quietly; never yelling.   
  
Okay, I'm running from two psychos in the middle of the woods at night. Hello?! Haven't you ever watched a scary movie? You're never supposed to go in the woods in the middle of the night, remember?   
  
Diane stopped running, and crouched low behind a tree, the wind blowing softly past her, as she listened. She could hear normal night sounds, the chirp of crickets, owls, and an occasional wolf.   
  
I've got to make it to town, she thought.   
  
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Mort crept behind a tree, waiting for movement to start again. I'm close. His ears caught the sound of shuffling, and as he moved nearer, his heart began to pound. He saw her, behind a tree, her red sweater clearly visible through the leaves. He circled around behind her and watched her fidget, letting her breath out in quick bursts.   
  
She was only in her late twenties, her chestnut brown hair hung around her face where it had come undone from the twin braids she had hanging down her back. She was very striking, her face red from the sprint she had taken from the house. When he finally made it all the way around her, to the back, he waited for a moment, listening to see if Shooter was nearby, and then sprung behind her, wrapping a hand over her mouth before she could squeal. He wrapped another arm around her waist. "Be quiet," he said. He let her go, and she spun around. "Get away from me," she said, raising a hand to punch him, but he caught her arm before it made contact.   
  
"He's going to kill you if you don't help me," Mort whispered.   
  
"Oh," she said, snatching her hand out of his grasp, "and why should I help you? It's all your fault that he's trying to kill me in the first place."   
  
"Come on," he said, grabbing her shoulder, and helping her up. "We have to get to town."   
  
"And why in the hell should I trust you?" she asked, trying to shrug out of his grip, but his hand was heavy on her arm.   
  
"Because I'm probably the only person on this earth that would believe anything you have to say about what's been happening."   
  
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Shooter stood at the edge of the lake, watching the water ripple against the stone he had just thrown.   
  
Sooner or later, that girl would slip, and give him the perfect opportunity. Sooner or later.  
  
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OOOOOOOOooooooo… so, what is Shooter? Is he a ghost? A figment of their imaginations? Or simply just a psycho? We'll find out! 


	6. Crazy, Crazy, Crazy

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Okay guys, I'm really really sorry that I've taken so long to update, but life got in the way. I'm sure ya know how it is! Reviews do make me write faster, so please, please, please review!! I do happy dances when I get reviews!!!   
  
Dawnie-7: I know, we're not sure what he is yet. You'll find out…hehe  
  
Pirate's Wench: thanks a bunch…I really appreciate your comments…thanks for reading!!!   
  
Ch. 6  
  
Diane waited until Mort had hiked in front of her a couple of steps before she stopped. When he realized that she wasn't behind him, Mort turned. She was standing, her hair hanging in her face, which was still bright from running.   
  
"I'm not going anywhere with you. You've already tried to kill me twice. How do I know you won't try it again?"  
  
She watched Mort's face crack into a genuine smile and felt slightly uneasy, realizing just how secluded she was from the rest of the world.  
  
"You don't."  
  
"Oh, I feel much better now." Run. Run while you can.   
  
She spun around, ready to desert him the middle of the woods, when his fingers circled her upper arm to stop her. "Diane, I want to help you. If Shooter's trying to kill you, it's because of me. He thinks that you've done something, gotten in the way to getting what he wants."  
  
"And what would that be?"  
  
"Do you think we really have time for this right now?" he asked, irritation evident in his voice.   
  
"Yes. Because if I'm going to be helping a man who tried to kill me, I might as well know why this redneck shitkicker is trying to kill me too."   
  
"I never tried to kill you Diane," Mort said darkly, his fingers tightening around her arm.   
  
"Right. So when you normally choke someone, you're not trying to kill them?"  
  
"That wasn't me."  
  
"Ah. So exactly how many of you are up there?" She pointed at his head, her eyebrows raised.   
  
"Listen, I was paranoid. I thought you were working with Shooter." He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit she had noticed, and feeling in his pocket, he produced a black cap. He pulled it over his head.   
  
"And how would I even know him? This is the most illogical and ridiculous thing I have ever heard."  
  
He rolled his eyes, irritated, "welcome to my world."   
  
She considered that statement for a moment, and then, sighed. "I don't think so."   
  
He reached out for her when she took a few steps back from him. "Whe-where are you going?"   
  
"Mort, I don't understand what exactly is going on here, but I do know that it all comes back to you."  
  
"Haven't you ever seen those teen slasher movies? You're supposed to stick together. Every time somebody goes off by themselves, something bad always happens."   
  
"I don't know what kind of twisted game you're playing, but I want you to stay away from me," she said, stalking off, her footsteps rustling in the underbrush.   
  
"Diane, come back!" he yelled, Shooter long forgotten.   
  
Diane was muttering under her breath, her temper rising. That man was completely insane. She was going to find her way out of the woods and make it to the town, and call the police. The farther away she was from that lunatic, the better off she'd be. Of course, that was the least of her problems when a hand grasped her shoulder and spun her around harshly.   
  
**********************************  
  
Dun, dun, dun…  
  
I know guys, I'm sorry, cliffhangers are very bad, but I am trying to figure out the ending to like four different stories plus a creative writing final, so I'm swamped…just wait til the next chapter, you'll find out more! Oh, and in case y'all havent heard, Secret Window comes out on DVD on June 22!!!! YAY!!! And if you haven't read Sui Generis and the sequel, Silver and Gold, they are wonderful stories!!! 


	7. Where Now?

  
  
Disclaimer: I still don't own anything having to do with Secret Window except for my own character Diane.   
  
Okay guys, another day, another chapter!!!  
  
Big thanks to WhiteSword6621 for her help in finishing up the chapter! If you haven't read her stories, "Of Relatives and Kidnappings" I'd definitely recommend it as well as the sequel! If you like Once Upon a Time in Mexico, "Saving Grace" is also another great read! Otherwise, thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, and I hope I haven't confused anyone…yet. J Okay, and now on to Chapter 7!  
  
Ch. 7  
  
Diane gasped and was about to scream when she recognized Mort.   
  
"Leave me alone," she said. "Just stay away from me, or I swear I'll do something drastic."  
  
"Diane, you have to listen to me--"   
  
"Why? Ever since I met you, everything in my life has been turned upside down."  
  
"Look," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "everything in my life isn't so great right now either, okay? You're the only one who can help me figure out what's going on. Who's going to believe you if you told them what's going on anyway? What are you going to do?"   
  
Diane was stunned into silence by his outburst and she could feel her heart pumping in her throat.   
  
"Come on," Mort said, putting a hand around her upper arm and steering her into action. "Lets get back to the house. If this is going to be settled, it's going to be without the help of the police."  
  
She resisted as he practically dragged her for a few steps and then finally planted her feet. "You take your hands off of me right now." When he didn't even acknowledge her, she dug her fingers into his hand until he hissed and released her.   
  
"Damn it, we have to hurry." She glared at him as he shrugged, "look, we have to hurry. This guy could be anywhere and we've been standing here fighting for fifteen minutes. I don't want him catching up to us." His face softened as he put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it up her neck. "I don't want anything to happen to you because of me."   
  
She looked at him with a mixture of shock and confusion.   
  
"Now come on, can you show me the way back to the house?"   
  
Diane stopped and glanced to her right and left. He heard her murmur something under her breath, a barely concealed string of Spanish curses. "I-I don't know. I got so turned around. I was running and then--I don't know."   
  
He nodded and then glanced up. The moon had risen but was nowhere near directly overhead. "I still kind of have my bearings. It should be this way," he said, his shoes crunching over the dead leaves. She followed him closely, her breath brushing the back of his neck. As he walked, a knowing smile crossed his face, lit only by the glint in his brown eyes.   
  
I know guys, it's a really, really, really short chapter, so don't kill me…yet. I promise it will get better, it's just a little harder to write this than I first thought. Anyway, with shorter chapters I can update a heck of a lot faster. 


	8. Aspirin and Ice Packs

Disclaimer: For the hundredth time, I don't own Secret Window, Mort Rainey, or anything related to it (except of course for this little story and my own character, Diane).   
  
Wow, so many reviews! Well, I am sorry to say that I have been the victim of writers block and I'm not talking just not being able to think up a story, but having complete mental breakdown…along with serious sugar overload, and then withdrawal, and then overload again.   
  
Okay, since you can't see when I use italics and bolds I'm using asterisks.   
  
=Mort conscience  
  
=Mort  
  
()=Diane's conscience  
  
(())=Diane  
  
Ch. 8  
  
Mort smirked as he pulled a branch out of the way, making sure to get clear of it before letting it whip out of his hand.   
  
What are you doing? Get Diane out of here! Do it before it's too late!  
  
Shut up you wimp, what do you know? She's what's going to help me finish this off.  
  
How? You don't even know what you're going to do.  
  
Yes I do.  
  
Please Mort, stop lying to yourself, you're really bad at it  
  
I told you to leave me alone.  
  
He didn't realize that he had stopped until Diane bumped into him. His body was rigid and she tripped, stumbling and landing on her back in the piles of leaves jumbled into every crevasse of the ground. She cried out softly as she had tried to catch herself and ended up bruising her elbows. Mort turned to look at her for a moment, an expression of surprise at her position sprawled on the ground. She grasped her leg in pain, "I think I twisted my ankle."  
  
Look what you've done.  
  
Didn't I tell you to shut up?  
  
"Here," he said. "Let me help you." He bent down and scooped her up in his arms. He heard her gasp as pressure was put on her leg.   
  
"Thanks," she said, looking into his face, obviously uncomfortable.  
  
You are in so much trouble Mort  
  
He ignored the voice and situated her in his arms, hearing her hiss. "Sorry."  
  
"It's-it's alright." She closed her eyes as he cradled her in his arms.  
  
(You are just a glutton for punishment aren't you?)  
  
((What are you talking about?))  
  
(You! You can't fall for this guy, he's a murderer!)  
  
((You don't know that, he could've been framed))  
  
(You and I both know that he wasn't)  
  
((But he could've been))  
  
(You are kidding yourself. How do you know he's not just going to kill you too?)  
  
((He's not going to kill me. You heard him, he needs me to help him get rid of that other guy))  
  
(You are so gullible)  
  
((Bite me))  
  
(That's mature)  
  
She opened her eyes and looked into Mort's face. He was looking into the trees. When she tried to see what he was staring at, she saw a light winking through the leaves. "You found it!" she said, wiggling in his arms and making Mort loose his grip. He almost dropped her but managed to gain his balance enough to steady them both.   
  
He looked down at her, a smile on his face, "of course I did."  
  
When they reached the top of the porch, Mort set her back on her feet.   
  
"How's your ankle?" he asked, steadying her so she could catch her balance. She tried to put some weight on it but gave a small cry and almost fell down if he hadn't caught her.  
  
"Careful," he said, keeping her upright.   
  
"Thanks," she said, her leg throbbing up from her ankle as if someone was clutching it sadistically.  
  
"Come on, lets get you in the house." He put an arm around her waist and helped her hobble to the couch, where she could collapse, a small murmur of thanks escaping her lips.   
  
"Where did you hurt it?" Mort asked, pulling her pants leg up to expose her ankle which was already visibly swollen over her hiking booth. He gave a low whistle and stood up, looking around the room.   
  
"Would you mind getting me some ice?" she asked, touching her ankle tentatively but grimacing quickly.  
  
"Uh, sure," he said heading towards the kitchen. It was spotlessly clean and obviously feminine. He pulled out a plastic bag from one of the drawers and filled it with ice from the freezer.   
  
Diane leaned down to inspect the ankle. It was a mixture of colors which made her feel slightly nauseated. Her ankle felt like someone was clutching her ankle sadistically, making all the nerves up her leg throb.   
  
Mort walked back into the room carrying the ice pack and a can of soda as Diane leaned back onto the couch. He gently placed the pack on her ankle watching her grimace in pain and then sigh as the ice worked its magic.   
  
"Here," he said, opening his palm with two aspirin. "Take this, it'll help the swelling and the soreness."   
  
(Oh yeah, take the nice pills from the psycho)  
  
((Shut up, they're just aspirin.))  
  
(You are such a naive little girl.)  
  
She took the pills from him as he popped the top on the soda. He handed it to her and she took a swig of the soda. Sighing in relief, she said, "thanks."   
  
He stood and turned his back to her.   
  
"What are you going to do?" she asked.  
  
He didn't move for a moment, simply continued to stare out the window into the darkness.  
  
"I have an idea," he said slowly, "but you're going to have to trust me."  
  
"What kind of an idea?"  
  
"He's going to come back sooner or later…sooner or later, looking for me. He knows that I wouldn't hurt you. But he would. He would kill you in a second without a care in the world."   
  
"How can you stop him?"   
  
"There's only one thing he wants," Mort said.   
  
"And what would that be?" Diane asked, adjusting the ice pack on her ankle and studying his back.   
  
"His story. He's obsessed with it. He's the one who killed Amy and Ted, to keep them out of the way. That might be how he sees you, as getting in the way. He'll come looking for you because he knows that you know about him because as long as everyone thinks I'm nuts, then he's safe."  
  
"So what are you going to do, use me as bait?" she felt a shiver run up her spine remembering the sadistic grin of the man as he had stood over her.  
  
"Yes." 


	9. What now?

Okay guys, here's the deal. I am so completely stuck on this story that I'm going to just have to end it if I don't get any sort of help. I'm in the middle of a pretty crazy Anatomy class and my brains just dead right now. If you guys think I should keep writing this, please let me know, and if you have any ideas, they're much appreciated and I will give you credit. I'm really sorry it's taken me so long to update, but here's what I have of Ch. 9 so far. Help!  
  
Ch. 9  
  
"What?" she said, her eyes widening.   
  
"You heard me," he said. "If I can lure him here, I can kill him, I'm sure of it."  
  
"Are you freaking nuts? You've lost it!"   
  
"You have to trust me," he said. "You just have to trust me."  
  
"Why? I've known you for a handful of hours and all you've shown me is that you're half-crazy, you're being chased by a man crazier than you, and both of you have tried to kill me."  
  
"I swear," Mort said, his eyes narrowing, "you call me crazy one more time…"  
  
Diane felt her breath catch, realizing the tenuous hold she had over him. "I'm not here to stroke your ego," she said, "but I would like to know what you're going to do if I'm going to put my life on the line for you."   
  
His mood seemed to lighten immediately and he raised his eyebrows, "Because if I can't kill him, he'll come after you anyway."  
  
He's right you know  
  
((How would you know? Shooter acted like he was only after Mort. Why would he care about me?))  
  
If I have to answer that question sugarpie, then you haven't been paying attention.  
  
((You are crazy. I don't even know what you're talking about))  
  
Sure ya do. You just don't want to admit it to yourself. And a little insight honey; if I'm crazy, you're crazy.  
  
((I resent that))  
  
That's fine, but it doesn't change anything.  
  
((Why don't you just leave me alone?))  
  
Because I'm just sadistic like that.  
  
She jumped as Mort snapped his fingers in front of her face.   
  
"You okay?" he asked, "you kinda zoned out."   
  
"What?" she said, "I was thinking."  
  
"Oh," Mort said, "well, I was saying that we need to be ready when he comes. If he catches us unprepared then we're as good as dead."   
  
"Why would he come after me Mort?"   
  
Mort stopped and stared at her for a moment. "I should think that it would be obvious," he said.   
  
"Well it's not to me," she said.   
  
"You've seen him. Up til this point no one has ever seen him. He'll make sure that you're not around to tell about it."   
  
"Would he kill you too?"   
  
"No," Mort said, "at least I don't think so. He'd probably rather see me dead than locked up. Either way I'd be no use to him."   
  
"Is that the only reason he would kill me?" Diane asked, fidgeting.  
  
"Well yeah…he's set out to destroy everyone in my life."   
  
He cares about you after he's only known you for a couple of hours? Why?  
  
She was silent for a moment before turning to look at him. "Why do you care what happens to me?"  
  
His eyes narrowed as he stared at her. "What do you mean? Can't you see the kind of hell my life is right now? I'm screwed no matter what I do, and I'll probably die before this is all over. You're the only person who has ever seen this guy. If we don't end it on our terms, he will." She stared at him blankly for a moment, at a loss for words. He mumbled something about getting a drink and disappeared into the kitchen.   
  
You are just a glutton for punishment aren't ya sweetheart?  
  
((Won't you just go away and leave me the hell alone? I swear to God I've got enough to deal with right now!)) 


	10. Big Trouble

Well guys, the story is winding up. I'm probably going to start another one soon but for now, I've kinda hit a dead end. So without further ado, Chapter 10. P.S. I want to thank everybody who has helped me through this story. Especially PirateGyrl who helped me a whole lot and PineAppleLint who gave me some great ideas.   
  
If you're a big fan of reading Pirates of the Caribbean, I'd definitely suggest PineApple Lint's stories as well as PirateGyrl who has a great contest going on right now for her story "Silver and Gold." Thanks again for reading guys!   
  
Ch. 10  
  
She fell asleep on the couch, snoring softly as he sat awake. Something was definitely wrong. Shooter normally had a way of locating him, but there was still no sign of him and it was already 4 a.m.   
  
He stood and walked to the window where a thunderstorm had rolled in and thunder rumbled overhead, lightning filtering through the trees. He heard a rustling behind him and turned quickly, but it was just Diane tossing and turning on the couch. He had covered her with a worn blanket that had been draped over the chair and cleared up the mess from the demolished lamp.   
  
While he waited he paced the room, his footsteps softened by the thick carpet. Diane slept soundly except for a couple of times he heard her murmuring in her sleep. He couldn't go anywhere until the thunderstorm was over, but as soon as it lifted, he would have to make a run for it.   
  
Using Diane was completely wrong. He would hate himself for doing that, especially if anything happened to her.   
  
6 a.m.   
  
Diane groaned as she rolled over. Her eyes were dried out from the contacts and her ankle was throbbing. Something was wrong. She turned over to look out the window and noted that the sun hadn't quite risen yet. There was some light rain pattering on the tin roof of the house. She sat up and looked around the room. Mort was gone. The front door was unlocked and she noticed that the floor had been cleaned up. Rising, she leaned against the table and hobbled to the front door. Maybe it had all been a dream, she thought, leaning out the door and searching for movement.   
  
There was no one outside but the air had definitely thickened with the settling rain. She stepped out on the porch and stood for a moment, contemplating the events of the past day.   
  
12 noon  
  
The house was pretty much as spotless as it had been before the entire incident the day before. She hadn't called the police because she basically had no proof of anything that had happened. She could almost convince herself that it had all been a dream. However, a prickling sensation bothered her every time she set foot out of the house, a paranoid feeling as if she were being watched. When she went to take the garbage out, she found a folded note at the top of the bin. She unfolded it and read the hastily scrawled note.   
  
Diane  
  
I had to leave. I promise this won't come anywhere near you.   
  
Mort  
  
Well congratulations honey, you killed him.  
  
((I didn't kill him, he left. There was nothing I could do.))  
  
She folded the note again carefully as her heart began to beat faster. He had left to protect her. He might even be dead by now if Shooter found him. She turned to go back into the house. There was nothing she could do. There had never really been anything she could do in the first place.   
  
2 weeks later  
  
Diane hiked through the woods. This time she carried a mace keychain with her. Whether or not what she had imagined really truly happened or if it was simply the wild hallucinations of an overly creative writer, she wasn't sure. As she neared the spot where the whole ordeal had begun, she again felt the hairs stand on her neck. There's no one here you idiot, she thought, turning in a slow circle and heading back towards the house.   
  
"I wondered if you'd ever come back," the voice said, echoing off the deep woods and making her spin again.   
  
"Mort?" she asked, her voice trembling.  
  
She heard leaves crackling up ahead and cautiously made her way towards the sound. Instead of the wiry frame of the writer, she again was confronted with the substantial psychopath grinning down at her. He didn't move but just stared down at her. She would have screamed, but it wouldn't have done any good. There was no one to hear.   
  
((I've lost my mind))  
  
A mind is a terrible thing to lose sweetheart, but it's not gone yet.  
  
((Smartass.))  
  
Wimp  
  
Shooter stared at her for another moment, the smile appeared frozen on his face.   
  
Diane glared at him. "What did you do to him?"  
  
He looked actually surprised at the accusation. "I didn't do anything. But if you screw up and hurt him, I will be back, I can assure you of that."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Diane asked, but watched as the man just turned and stalked off through the woods, moving so quickly that he simply dissolved into the trees.   
  
She turned and raced back to the house, her breathing heavy as she shoved into the house. And almost collapsed when she recognized Mort sitting in her armchair.   
  
He smiled at her. "Surprise."   
  
She stood stunned as he wrapped his arms around her, Shooter's voice echoing in her head.   
  
Oh boy are you in trouble sugar. 


	11. The Only Thing That Matters Is the Endin...

Ch. 11  
  
"Mort--I thought you were gone." Diane gulped audibly and waited for Mort to release her.   
  
He slowly released his grip on her. "I'm just happy you're alright."  
  
"Why wouldn't I be alright?" She backed away from him slowly and didn't notice his smile falter quickly.   
  
"Because, he could've come after you." He smoothed his hands over his pants pockets and raised an eyebrow.   
  
"Well he didn't," she said, still backing away until she found her way to the sofa.   
  
"Are you scared of me Diane?" he smiled quickly when she fidgeted.   
  
"Why did you come back?" she asked, watching him closely as he moved towards her.   
  
"I came back to make sure you were safe." He smiled as he sat down on the couch next to her.   
  
"No you didn't." She stood, anxious to get away from him. Something about him was different. "You came back because I'm the only one who knows your secret."   
  
She watched him flush and edged her way around the couch, his eyes following her movements.   
  
He's come back to finish you off.  
  
((Why? Why would he disappear for two weeks and then come back. How does he know I didn't call the cops?))  
  
Do you think he really cares? You heard Shooter. He killed four other people. That's why he was arrested. He murdered four other people in cold blood.  
  
She shivered as he continued to stare at her silently. She had done some checking up in the newspaper on the novelist who had gone crazy and killed his ex-wife, her boyfriend and two witnesses. The ex-wife was the one who had started the whole thing. It was probably what had set him off. She again heard what Shooter had told her in the woods, "I will be back."   
  
"What do you know about me Di?" Mort asked, patting the seat next to him, trying to coax her to sit down.   
  
She paused before answering. If Shooter hadn't let slip about the murders she never would have known.   
  
((Why didn't I call the cops when I had the chance?))  
  
Because you couldn't be sure whether you imagined the whole thing. The writer's brain of yours sure is creative and a bit over imaginative. What if you made the whole thing up?  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mort. What do you mean?"  
  
Mort looked at her as if she had grown a second head and smiled grimly at her. "Sure you do. You know exactly what I'm talking about or you wouldn't be trying to get as far away from me as you possibly could."  
  
"Mort, I don't know anything about you. All I know is that you showed up about two weeks ago, almost got me killed and then disappeared."   
  
Mort cocked his head to the side and smiled widely at her, his newly acquired tan very attractive on his thin face.   
  
"Why is it that women just can't seem to tell the truth?" He edged closer to where she clung to the back of the couch and grabbed her wrist. "What is it that makes them seem to be able to give a simple answer, even when we know they're lying?"   
  
"Let go of me," Diane said, her voice low. His grip grew tighter as his smile widened.   
  
"All you had to do was tell the truth, Diane. Just the truth. You already called the police didn't you?"  
  
She shook her head in protest as he ground his fingers into her wrist. She winced but didn't say anything.   
  
Do you want to die? Do something! He's going to kill you if you don't stop him.  
  
She pried his fingers off her arm and looked him in the eye. "Mort, I didn't call the police. I don't know what you think I know, but I haven't told anyone anything."   
  
He just stared at her for a moment and after consideration, he stood. "Liar." He stood, and made his way around the couch slowly while she countered his movements and she shook her head.   
  
At that moment she had a flashback from one of those movies she used to love watching curled up on a stormy Friday night. Psycho, Scream, they all had one thing in common. The psycho usually won. At least, they managed to kill most of the witnesses until someone was able to stop them.   
  
"I'm sorry, Diane," Mort said quietly.   
  
"No," she said, closing her eyes. "I am."   
  
She pulled the gun out from under the table behind the couch. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.   
  
You need help.  
  
Suddenly she was on the edge of a mountain looking down. The sun was setting brilliantly, blinding her as she lost her footing and plummeted into the canyon and--  
  
She woke up on the floor and grasped at her leg because it was throbbing. Someone was standing over her, but she had lost her glasses and she couldn't make out the face. She swung out, trying to gain her bearings and heard cursing when she struck something.   
  
Finding her glasses on the table, she slipped them on and gasped as she looked up into Mort's face. He was holding his nose and she could see that it was bleeding. (Thanks to PirateGyrl, I just couldn't resist!)  
  
"Mort, oh God, are you okay?" she tried not to laugh as he tried to stem the blood.   
  
"Thanks a lot," he said. He stood up carefully and hobbled into the kitchen where she could hear him muttering under his breath.   
  
The thunderstorm from the night before was slowly waning and all she could hear was soft pattering of the light rain.   
  
She carefully stood up, doing her best not to put any weight on the sprained ankle. She headed for the kitchen because her head was pounding and the nightmare she had had was awful.   
  
"Mort I'm sor--" Diane stopped short when she surveyed the scene before her. Mort was lying on the floor, his nose still bleeding, but he was out cold. At least he wasn't dead. A man that could've been his identical twin was kneeling over him, picking up a large black round brimmed hat off of the floor from where it had slid under the television stand.   
  
"Who the hell are you?"   
  
The other Mort grinned at her, his teeth long and straight. "I'm Mort Rainey honey, haven't you been paying attention?" He reached over to the counter where a large wooden block housed the steak knives and a long-bladed pair of scissors. She was about to run, but before she could, he sprang at her and backhanded her across the face. Although she tried to catch herself, she hit her head against the door frame and fell face down onto the cold linoleum floor.   
  
((I'm dead.))  
  
No you're not sweetheart. You're just free now  
  
While Diane watched from the floor, Mort leaned over her and grabbed her hand, but instead of pulling her up, he pulled someone else up, someone that looked exactly like her.   
  
((What's going on?))  
  
Instead of the other voice answering her, the young woman that looked just like her leaned down and smiled. "You'll see honey. You'll see."   
  
She took the scissors from Mort and leaning down, stabbed them through his heart coldly. All Diane could do was watch as she quietly placed the scissors in her hand, wrapping her fingers around the handle tightly. Then she stepped over her, heading for the living room.   
  
At that moment, the screen door swung open ominously and Diane's twin faced Shooter. He was wearing a hat identical to the one that Mort's twin was.   
  
"Hello Diane," he growled, his voice deep.   
  
She grinned at Shooter and turning, threw her arms around Mort's neck. "Let's get out of here. We can call the cops on our way out of town."   
  
Mort smiled and silently scooped her up in his arms and sweeping her in a low circle. Diane closed her eyes as the screen door slammed shut. Shooter disappeared into thin air and the cabin was quiet except for Diane's slow breathing through her broken nose.   
  
3 weeks later  
  
Suzette smiled as she nodded at the young woman behind the front counter. They were at a Druble's Mental Institution in Maine.   
  
"How's my girl today?" she asked, her high heels clicking on the tile floor.  
  
"She seems to be doing better," the bright red-head said, her long nails clacking against the keyboard in front of her.   
  
Suzette keyed into the girl's room and smiled kindly at the young woman lying on the bed.   
  
"How are you doing today Diane?" she asked softly.   
  
"She killed him," Diane whispered.   
  
"Who killed whom Diane?" Suzette leaned forward, hoping to catch every word the girl uttered.   
  
"A girl who looked just like me. She killed Mort. And then she left."  
  
Suzette shook her head sadly and patted Diane on the knee. "You just rest dear. We'll talk tomorrow, alright?"   
  
Diane nodded meekly and rolled over, her breathing becoming steady.   
  
Suzette slipped out of the room silently and smiled sadly at the receptionist again. "That poor girl, she thinks that someone was murdered at her house. There was no one there when the police came. Someone called in a crime at a pay phone, but when they got to the house,there was no one there. All that was there lying next to her was a ridiculous looking hat. There was no sign of anyone in that house."   
  
Theresa smiled at Suzette and nodded. "Did they find out who called in the 911?"   
  
Suzette shook her head. "It's the oddest thing. They did a test on the call-in, but they'd swear it was Diane who made the call."   
  
Theresa smiled again and shook her head sadly. "Don't worry. Maybe something will turn up."   
  
Okay guys, there you have it. The end of this story. I'm thinking about starting another one because this didn't turn out at all like I'd planned. So if you have any ideas, give me a buzz. Otherwise, thanks for reading! 


End file.
